


look around (see the beauty that was taken from you)

by Jazer



Series: Destroy the middle, it's a waste of space [1]
Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Character Study, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kinda, Mental Health Issues, Parental Fubuki Shirou, Trust Issues, Yukimura Hyouga - centric, Yukimura Hyouga plays violin, Yukimura Hyouga transfers from one school to another, and some cats - Freeform, because we love cats, cuz Hyouga tends to overthink in this one and it's anxiety like issue, he also draws really well, slight AU, there are hugs in this one, there's a scarf in this one, touch-starved Yukimura Hyouga, you know which one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer
Summary: Yukimura Hyouga doesn't really expect a lot from Hakuren Junior High School.But he goes along with it, because that's what Hyouga does - he moves forward. And then, he meets Fubuki Shirou.aka Yukimura Hyouga gets the parental figure he absolutely fucking deserves.





	look around (see the beauty that was taken from you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419536) by [NeloQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeloQuill/pseuds/NeloQuill). 



> This is officially my first work in Inazuma Eleven tag and let me tell you - it was fun to write it.
> 
> (I have four other ones, so like, i'm rolling with this).
> 
> So, here's the thing: I did not get enough Yukimura content on this website or any other website or even in anime. I needed more and since no one was there to deliver it, I had to do it myself. It's just basically a lot of headcanons mixed together. It may not be in proper order and I MIGHT have accidentally messed up timeline, hence a little AU, but it's good. 
> 
> And it was supposed to be a short one-shot. Whoopsie.
> 
> Anyways, I was really inspired after reading Alone by NeloQuill (It's amazing, please check it out), and so decided to try my hand at writing something with Yukimura, too. So, I birthed this little baby. 
> 
> (I love Yukimura, can't you tell?)

                Yukimura Hyouga doesn’t expect a lot from Hakuren Junior High School.

                In all honesty, Hyouga got pretty much used to being tossed from one school to another after finishing up the elementary school. Main reason for people to throw him out?

                Soccer.

                And here’s the thing:

                Hyouga loves soccer. It’s not anything special because you just kick the ball until it gets into the goal. It shouldn’t even excite him as it does now – people have told him to keep away from it, bury the part that makes him the happiest and pick a safer hobby – art, for example, because Hyouga has been talented from young age.

                But art doesn’t make Hyouga’s heart race. It doesn’t make him forget about the terrible things that happen at home.

                Hakuren was supposed to be the same. Hyouga would play serious soccer – something unachievable after the Fifth Sector took over the world – the coach would notice, reprimand him and the next day Hyouga would be biting his tongue when they tell him to transfer.

                Hakuren is his tenth school already.

                Yukimura Hyouga doesn’t even hope for a permanent placement anymore. He just goes along with it.

 

* * *

 

 

                Miyuki-san – Hyouga’s newest neighbor – encourages him a lot.

                She only has to hear one word: soccer, and she’s already up and fired up.

                “You should do what you want to do, Yukimura-kun,” she says the day Hyouga settles into his new home, “Even if it costs you another school.”

                In all honesty, Miyuki-san is a nice young woman with calming blue eyes and the bluest curly hair in the world. Hyouga doesn’t remember the last time he laughed so much when she brought up her oldest brother and told him about the old soccer times and how many times her brother got hit with a ball in the face.

                Miyuki-san doesn’t yell either. Her voice is firm and soothing, but it’s totally different than Hyouga’s mother’s voice because it doesn’t make him feel small or unimportant. The only problem is – his parents don’t like Miyuki-san.

                They only look at her once, hear about her brother and she’s already regarded with a look of disgust.

                “My family can’t afford another trip,” he admits.

                And since his parents don’t like Miyuki-san, Hyouga is forced to sneak out of the house that day and hang out with the woman in her small garden. It’s not a big deal, usually Hyouga would go out at night either way. This time, at least, he has company.

                Miyuki-san has known him for five hours max and yet, Hyouga can already tell she’s a better person than most of the people that he knows – that and she allows him to drink all the tea in the world.

                “Your family doesn’t sound very nice, Yukimura-kun,” she observes and she doesn’t mean to be noisy or judgmental, but Hyouga still stiffens at the words, gripping his cup tighter, “Are they?”

                “I love them,” he answers slowly, unsure.

                Miyuki looks at him, “Do you?”

                Hyouga doesn’t answer this time. He turns his head away to stare at the stars and pretends to not see the way Miyuki sighs as if she was expecting him to open up. They’re still strangers, he likes her, but there’s a line and Hyouga doesn’t want to cross it too soon.

                “In any case, I think soccer is pretty cool,” she speaks up after a minute or so.

                “Do you?”

                “Yeah,” she sends him a timid smile, “I used to play with my brother, like, all the time? Man, this was,” she trails off, looking in the sky, “something else.”

                “It’s not like that anymore.”

                “No, you’re right,” she frowns, “It’s shame, really. I miss the kids laughing when they played, the thrill of scoring a goal. Soccer, Hyouga-kun, soccer united us. This now? It’s disgraceful.”

                Hyouga nods and finally relaxes. It feels safe around Miyuki-san. He didn’t realize how tense he’s been for the past few months until he had the chance to sit down and just be. With no expectations around, no yells or shouts, no coaches who hated soccer, no principals who sent him pitying looks.

                He missed that sense of calmness.

                “I want to play real soccer,” he whispers.

                He wants to connect. He wants to not be alone.

                Miyuki-san glances at him, her eyes looking softer and she sighs, wishfully, “Don’t we all, Yukimura-kun. Don’t we all.”

               

* * *

 

                Hakuren’s coach doesn’t like him, it’s clear in the way he squints at his plays and keeps muttering under his breath. Hyouga knows that look – it’s saying that he’s the problem and he needs to go. It’s gotten so familiar to Hyouga that he doesn’t even register the pain of being an outsider until he sits alone at lunch and keeps getting looks.

                Soccer club is controlled by Fifth Sector. There are kids who want to play like him but are scared; there are kids who like the managed soccer more; and there are kids who just don’t care and want to have a better future that managed soccer promises them.

                At first, Hyouga doesn’t notice being isolated. At first he just gets scolded by the coach for paying too rough, then his teammates glare at him whenever he seriously races past them to the goal line, and finally, after a week or so, Hyouga officially started to get isolated from the soccer club. They don’t pass to him, ignore him.

                In the end, Hyouga gets left behind. And it twists something deep inside of him, it makes his heart clench in a terrible way and his eyes itch as he stands in the middle of the field all by himself.

                “It’s just practice,” they say annoyed.

                “Practice or not, it doesn’t matter. You have to be serious at what you do, no matter what stage it is. Otherwise you can’t move forward!”

                Not even one person agrees with him. It’s just him.

                His coach doesn’t care, either, “That’s not how we play,” he answers coldly when Hyouga asks why he’s the only one who doesn’t get to kick the ball.

                Ah.

                _That’s right,_ Hyouga thinks, _Fifth Sector’s soccer isn’t serious._

                Kids don’t try, they don’t train. Soccer is managed and if someone is meant to score, they score without even putting any strength behind the kick. It makes Hyouga angry, because it’s not fair, it’s not – soccer is meant to be fun, to connect.

                It’s not supposed to make Hyouga feel like an outsider.

                Weeks later, Hyouga sits in Miyuki-san’s garden and drinks black tea and thinks that it’s okay, he’s been through a lot and if he transfers again, maybe he will finally get to play like he wants, maybe someone will want him.

                His mother said it’s useless, that soccer is stupid and Hyouga should pursue art instead. In response to that, Hyouga drew a soccer field, drew people who kick the ball with such passion on their faces that his mother took the picture and ripped it. Hyouga tells it to Miyuki-san.

                “I don’t think that’s a normal behavior,” she answers and there’s a concern frown on her face, like she wants to ask if he’s okay, if he needs help, “People— moms aren’t supposed to be like that, Yukimura-kun.”

                Hyouga wants to scream and say he agrees, but all that comes out is a strained laugh.

                Hyouga’s mother never liked soccer – she never liked anything Hyouga did because Hyouga liked immature stuff like kicking the ball, like knitting, like decorating his room with fresh flowers and singing lullabies.

                But Miyuki-san doesn’t need to know that, so he shrugs, swallows and says, “She’s okay. It was a bad day.”

                “What about your dad?”

                Hyouga forces himself to not flinch and to not give Miyuki another reason to worry. He keeps his eyes trained on the cup and smiles a little bitterly, “He likes art.”

                “Art?”

                “Yeah,” Hyouga nods, “He’s a designer.”

                He doesn’t tell her about the time his father burst into his room and shouted at him to stop being such a brat and leave soccer, to follow into his footsteps. He doesn’t say that Hyouga was scared to touch the ball for months after that. He doesn’t tell her he still has a scar on his arm after his father pushed him and Hyouga fell on a pair of scissors.

                “Sounds boring,” her  searching gaze doesn’t leave his face, “Do you like art?”

                Does he?

                Hyouga thought he did. Art used to calm him, remind him there’s beauty in the world. The smell of paper, the comforting weight of a pencil in his hand, the dirty fingers and satisfaction of accomplishing yet another work. Now, art is not free – art is his duty, it’s supposed to be perfect and sell well.

                “I’m supposed to be an artist,” he blurts out.

                Miyuki-san doesn’t even blink, “Do you want to be?”

                No. Hyouga doesn’t.

                As he looks back at her, he hears his father yelling in his head, telling him to be better, to be a good boy and be obedient. His father says, ‘In art, everything is perfect, there’s no place for mistakes or imagination.’

                Hyouga doesn’t have the luxury of a choice.

                Miyuki-san face looks crestfallen, “Yukimura-kun?”

                Hyouga bites down on his tongue and smiles, “Yeah.”

                It doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as he wanted it to be, and Miyuki-san still looks at him sadly. But Hyouga turns his head away and returns to staring at the stars.

 

* * *

 

                 There’s someone new at Hakuren.

                The man has his grey hair spiked up a little bit, wears a blue jacket with a white hood and has two yellow lines on the left shoulder that look like the captain's mark, and a white shirt with a green mark that resembles Hakuren's symbol on his shirt, along with a pair of green pants and brown shoes.

                He looks – well, normal, Hyouga decides, but he strolls down the halls like he knows the place already and yet his eyes are searching for something. The staff seems to know him – even the grumpy janitor Yun sends him a small smile.

                Hyouga doesn’t pay much more attention to him. At least not until he accidentally runs into him at the end of classes and nearly knocks both of them down.

                “I’m sorry!” slips out of his mouth, urgent, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

                The man smiles. Freaking smiles and Hyouga doesn’t get why, because not even a second ago they would both kiss the ground and probably knock a teeth or two, because the ground there is not a bloody cloud.

                “It’s alright,” the man says, “Are you okay?”

                Hyouga shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, and his mind is still racing, because the last time he ran into someone and that someone was his mother – he got slapped in a face. And another time, the school before Hakuren, he knocked over a classmate and almost got punched.

                “Y-yeah,” he stutters and takes a step back, “Fine. Uh,” he looks around and the man follows his eyes, “Are looking for someone, sir? I can—“

                “No, it’s fine,” he interrupts but it’s soft and how can someone so tall and so wild look so gentle, Hyouga has no idea, “I’m just visiting. I used to go here to school.”

                So he is right and the man knows the place.

                “Right,” Hyouga mumbles, “Of course.”

                The man’s smile doesn’t leave even when the silence stretches a bit too long and becomes a little awkward. Hyouga shifts on his feet, “Then, I’m—“

                “Oi! Yukimura, the practice is starting in ten minutes!”

                “Practice?” the man asks as Hyouga waves in acknowledgement to one of the older students heading for the gym and almost misses the glint in the man’s eyes, “Soccer club?”

                “Yeah,” Hyouga says distracted, not sure if showing up for practice is worth it if the only thing Hyouga will get to do is stand in the middle and do absolutely nothing, “It was nice to meet you, sir. I’m afraid I have to go.”

                And he takes off before the man can answer.

                In retrospect, it was probably rude and if it happened at home, Hyouga would most likely not get dinner for that, but even if practice sucks and Hyouga is not allowed to play the way he wants to, the excitement of seeing the ball wins over.

 

* * *

 

                The man is here again.

                Hyouga pretends to not notice the way he watches the practice match they have with the neighbor school – the irony of that was that Hyouga actually played for them before the transfer and he felt his former teammates eyes on him the whole time – and focuses on the game.

                Or the lack of the game thereof. The order from Fifth Sector said 2-0, Hakuren’s loss.

                Coach keeps giving him sore looks and when the match ends, he pulls him aside.

                “What was that?”

                “What was what?”

                “Don’t play dumb with me, Yukimura,” coach snaps, “You know what I said about your style. We don’t play like that here.”

                Hyouga wants to snap too and say he doesn’t give a damn, it’s not like anyone would pass the ball to him, but he bites his tongue, remembers his father’s words, ‘art is more important,’ and his stomach twists.

                “I’m sorry, coach,” he grumbles, “Won’t happen again.”

                “I sure hope so,” coach growls out, “Because the next time it happens, you’re off the team.”

                Off the team, he says, as if Hyouga wasn’t already off the team, isolated and forgotten. Only on the field to have the correct number of players.

                It still hurts.

                God, it hurts, because not only coach glares at him, his teammates also don’t look pleased. They need soccer – be it for the future credits or just to brag to younger generation that they’ve been blessed enough to play it. Hyouga’s style of playing puts their school in danger.

                He ducks his head and flies the gym as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

                Fubuki Shirou – the janitor said when Hyouga asked about the man who keeps coming to practice and watches their games – is his name and Hyouga doesn’t hesitate to google him up.

                The results aren’t anything special. He was the ace striker for Hakuren in golden age of soccer, was part of Japan’s national team at some point and kept playing even after junior high school. Something happened to his family – Hyouga guesses they died when Fubuki Shirou was young – and he’s said to have a twin brother before he also died in avalanche.

                It doesn’t explain why he would go through such trouble to come here and watch them.

                Hyouga leaves it be – it’s not his business, his home life is rough and the soccer club gets on his nerves enough as it is.

                He meets him again days later, on the school ground. Hyouga is frustrated, angry, disappointed and hurt. His heart keeps racing, and his hands shake and everything is too loud. Only kicking the ball helps in those scenarios.

                So Hyouga kicks the ball and kicks it until it’s all dirty and wet from snow and then kicks it again, but this time, the ball doesn’t stay in the goal, it jumps back and lands next to it, under the man’s feet.

                “That’s some powerful kick force,” he says as a way of greeting, ignoring the way Hyouga freezes in his spot, “Yukimura Hyouga-kun, isn’t it?”

                “Yes, sir.”

                Fubuki Shirou smiles and passes the ball. Hyouga doesn’t move to touch it. Anger and frustration leaves him drained and he almost slumps on the ground when all that’s left is a wounded pride and a hurt heart.

                “Want to play?” the man suggests and Hyouga still doesn’t speak. He can’t. There’s something blocking his throat and his eyes itch and—

                “No,” he croaks out after a while, “Don’t feel like it.”

                “I see,” the man says slowly, and maybe he doesn’t see the way Hyouga mentally crumbles on the ground, “Well. Is it alright if I stay and watch, then?”

                “What for?” he bites out before he can think better, but Fubuki Shirou doesn’t react to his tone of voice and doesn’t scold him like his mother would, he only smiles and smiles and it’s enough to make Hyouga feel even guiltier about acting so shitty when it’s not even the man’s fault that his life seems to break in some places.

                “I have nothing else to do,” the man admits, “And you seem like you need company.”

                It’s that easy.

                Hyouga turns away from him, takes the ball and says, “Do what you want, sir.”

                The man stays with him until he goes home. Hyouga tries to forget the warm feeling of not being ignored and reminds himself that it won’t last and soon, he will have to transfer again.

 

* * *

 

 

                The next day when Hyouga sneaks out of the house to meet up with Miyuki-san, he realizes they are not alone.

                Miyuki-san doesn’t even give him an explanation, she just says, “That’s Fubuki Shirou. I know him from school and he came to catch up.”

                Hyouga feeling hot and cold at the same time stands paralyzed on the threshold of the garden and tries to will down the urge to run away and never come back. Miyuki-san gives him The Look and he hurries to his seat right next to her and doesn’t relax even when he’s gives his cup of tea.

                The conversation they had before Hyouga barged in picks up. It should have made him uncomfortable, but in reality, their voices are the same – soothing and calm and they make Hyouga sleepy, as if they enveloped him in a invisible blanket of security.

                He forgets where he is for a moment and when they suddenly ask him a question, he has to shake himself awake.

                “How was school, Yukimura-kun?” Miyuki-san asks as Fubuki-san sips his tea.

                Hyouga tries to focus, but he’s tired and hurt all over and he wishes Miyuki-san was his mother instead and that he could stay with her for the night, so all he says is, “It was fine,” and that’s all.

                Miyuki’s smile fades a little, “And soccer?”

                Hyouga hides his wince and shrugs, “It’s okay.”

                It’s not and they both know it and even Fubuki-san looks like he wants to say something, but Hyouga is tired, so very tired and lonely and so Fubuki-san ignores his curiosity and smiles instead, “Hakuren is different nowadays.”

                Miyuki-san glances at him, “You mean worse.”

                “Not for long,” he says and there’s something in his eyes that give his answer an air of mystery, “Yukimura,” Fubuki-san glances at him when Hyouga shivers at the peculiarly strong wind, “Are you cold?”

                _Always_ , he wants to say, but instead, Hyouga wraps his arms around himself tighter and shakes his head, “No.”

                 Miyuki-san keeps giving him worried looks and he wants to tell her that he’s freezing and he just wants to fall asleep and wake up in a better world. Yet, he smiles at her and hopes it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. Pretends he doesn’t want to just curl up and disappear.      

                “If you’re sure,” she sounds uncertain, “But if you want, I can give you—“

                “It’s okay.”

                “Are you sure? Because it’s not a problem—“

                “I’m fine!” he snaps and he’s not sure why. He hears static in his head, and he’s half-aware of the fact that even Fubuki-san got rendered speechless.

                There’s a stunned silence as Hyouga’s brain catches up with him and he’s left mortified and ashamed and he swears his heart just skipped a beat or two and now as it tries to catch up it makes him dizzy. Miyuki-san doesn’t say a thing, she stares at Hyouga and seems to not know what to say.

                Hyouga knows what she should do.

                Yell at him. Scold him. Maybe even slap him for being disrespectful. There are countless of things Miyuki-san could have done but didn’t. The fact that she’s one of the few people that showed him kindness makes Hyouga feel even worse.

                “I’m-I—“ he stutters out and tries to speak through the lump in his throat, “Miyuki-san, I’m sorry, I—“

                The thing is Miyuki-san doesn’t even look angry. She’s just surprised. What baffles her is probably Hyouga’s reaction to snapping at her. In all fairness, Hyouga understands – people don’t look like they’re about to cry after a minor accident.

                “Yukimura-kun,” she says and her voice is soft and maybe Hyouga would be irritated at the fact that she talks to him like to a spooked animal, but he can’t focus on anything else than the mess in his head and a phantom pain on his hands, “It’s alright.”

                “No,” he shakes his head, “It’s not.”

                Miyuki-san doesn’t agree, but she knows she can’t make him change his mind. Instead, she tells him to stay a little while longer when she notices him eyeing the exit and makes another warm tea. She never orders him to go away or apologize.

                Fubuki-san doesn’t comment on his outburst. Hyouga is actually unnerved when he sees the man staring at him, analyzing him as if he was looking for something in Hyouga. The second Hyouga catches his gaze, Fubuki-san merely smiles and goes back to his own drink.

                Later that day, when he goes to sleep, he wonders when Miyuki-san will get tired of him, wonders when she’s gonna become like his parents – violent and mean. He wonders – but he wishes he didn’t have to.

 

* * *

 

 

                Things don’t get easier after that. Whenever Hyouga goes over to Miyuki-san’s garden he’s reminded of his childish reaction, of tears in the corners of his eyes and the pull on his heart as if the concern and affection from Miyuki-san burned through his skin and tried to rip the organs apart.

                The only thing that doesn’t set Hyouga’s oversensitive soul on fire is his late practice – so that’s what he ends up doing most of his days. He’s still ignored and ditched in school – his coach made himself pretty clear that unless Hyouga would change and adapt, he was not welcome on the field. When everyone goes home, when he doesn’t feel like staying with Miyuki-san, he stays at school grounds with the ball.

                Most often than not, Hyouga is alone.

                But he’s used to it – to the crisp cold, the snowflakes falling down, to the frosty wind. He remembers how it used to be – when soccer wasn’t a weapon, but a fun hobby. He remembers when kids laughed and chased the ball. When he could show off, improve and be better.

                Those days are gone.

                Hyouga feels empty.

                On days like these – when loneliness and his parents’ expectations are too much, Hyouga stays behind when the soccer club practice ends, takes the ball and tries to get better alone, on the outside field. It’s way too chilly for him to be there in only his uniform and he can feel the uncomfortable cool air under his shirt, but he doesn’t stop.

                He can’t stop, actually, because the moment he stops, the chaos in his head becomes louder and louder – so loud it makes him grimace and double over. Hyouga was never good with stillness – that was one of the reasons soccer is so important to him.

                Today was supposed to be the same.

                It isn’t the same. If anything, today makes a big dent in his routine oriented life, because as he walks up to the field with the ball, someone is already there.

                “Fubuki-san,” he greets, unsure. He hasn’t seen the man since the incident. He’s not even sure he wanted to see him any more than he has to.

                “Yukimura,” he nods and smiles, “Practicing on your own?”

                Hyouga stares at him longer than he should, briefly recalling that he’s talking to The Fubuki Shirou, a former member of the national team of Japan and now he’s just casually where Hyouga usually spends his free time.

                Finally, he shakes his head and shrugs, “I have to get better somehow.”

                “I see,” Fubuki-san looks around, hands in his pockets and back against the goal post, “Mind if I join you?”

                “Why would you?” slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Fubuki-san frowns.

                “Why wouldn’t I?”

                “We’re not supposed to play real soccer here,” he nods to the school building behind them, Fubuki-san follows his gaze, “I don’t see a point. You,” he trails off for a moment, before gathering himself and swallowing his own anger at Fifth Sector, “you don’t play like we do.”

                “Like you do?” Fubuki-san hums to himself, then tilts his head at him, “And how do you think I play?”

                _Like I want to play_ , Hyouga thinks, but he holds back and shrugs again, manages a small smirk, “Like an old man, probably.”

                Fubuki-san lets out a snort and his smile gets wider, “I’m only 24, not 42, Yukimura.”

                “If you insist.”

                Hyouga drops the ball, kicks it up and juggles it.

                “I heard the coach doesn’t let you play,” Fubuki-san speaks up suddenly, causing Hyouga to momentarily lose his balance. He manages to catch himself, but the ball drifts over to the man.

                “Is that so.”

                Fubuki-san’s eyes glint when he looks up and begins to juggle the ball himself, “Fifth Sector doesn’t take kindly to kids like you.”

                Hyouga narrows his eyes, “What’s your point, Fubuki-san?”

                “I applied for the coach’s position last week,” he admits and continues on even when Hyouga’s eyes widen, “I should get my answer tomorrow morning, if things go smoothly.”

                It doesn’t really explain anything, only raises more questions. Fubuki-san notices that and smiles, passing the ball to Hyouga, “I also noticed your kick is pretty strong.”

                “Is it?” Hyouga doubts, because people don’t compliment him – his parents use praise as a reward, yes, but when it comes to genuine affection or interest for his skills, it’s lacking. And Hyouga knows it’s because he’s never been as good as he could, never at the top. Always tossed away.

                Compliments mean nothing. Words mean nothing.

                And yet, Fubuki-san’s next words are a life-changing turn for him.

                “Want to learn something cool?”

                And that’s how Hyouga got himself a mentor.

 

* * *

 

 

_I’m not good enough, not good enough, not good enough—_

                “Is that all it takes for you to give up?” Fubuki-senpai’s words cut through air and dig into Hyouga’s mind because, yes, that’s all it takes.

                Hyouga’s been told many things.

                You’re great at art.

                You’re always so polite.

                Or:

                You’re a little shit, Yukimura.

                You’re making others look bad.

                From the way he holds himself, to the way he draws, all up to the point of overworking his body – Hyouga’s always been told the only thing he’s ever gonna excel at is art and that’s all he’s useful for.

                And he’s been— he’s been trying so hard for the past few years. To be good. To make his parents proud even though they were too busy criticizing him to really look and see him for who he is. Went out of his way to make sure he’s not imposing on his parents’ time, hid in his room and studied for days so he could bring home good grades – a recompense for being a reason they move so much.

                Failing at performing Eternal Blizzard is kind of like a punch line of a bad joke.

                “Am I—am I not good enough?” he voices either way and his voice shakes but he doesn’t dare too look around and see yet another disappointment – this time on the face of a man who took his time to train Hyouga, spend his free time doing that, only to find out that Hyouga’s not really that much, that he’s—

                He doesn’t realize his breathing got harder until the familiar cold air becomes too much and he slips on his knees.

                “I know you can do it, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai says and he doesn’t seem to react to Hyouga’s internal struggle. It’s possible he doesn’t see it, it’s also possible he simply doesn’t care. Hyouga doesn’t know which one would be worse, “C’mon. One more time.”

                In the end, it’s that calm voice that does it. The strange gut feeling that Fubuki-senpai isn’t going to yell at him for breaking down.

                “I can’t,” he whispers helplessly.

                Hyouga can’t see him from that angle, but he can tell the man is raising his eyebrow.

                “Why?”

                Hyouga clenches his fingers on his shirt, tries to calm and remind himself that there’s no real danger around and just because he can’t get the Eternal Blizzard doesn’t mean he’s going to get punished.

                It’s not working.

                Maybe—

                “I can’t do it,” he’s whispering and it’s desperate. Can’t Fubuki-senpai see it? Hyouga’s not strong enough and it’s never, it’s never going to be—

                “Yukimura,” this time, the voice is closer, “Yukimura, look at me.”

                Hyouga absolutely doesn’t whimper as he lifts his gaze and tries to focus on Fubuki-senpai crouching in front of him rather than on his racing heart and sweaty palms. His fingers start to dig into his skin, but he can barely feel the pain, barely feel the crisp air around them.

                “What?” he rasps out.

                “What’s happening?”

                Hyouga shakes his head. He can’t tell. There’s nothing physically wrong with him. It’s just stress making him feel like this, anxiety beating him from the inside. The overwhelming, crushing fear that something bad is about to happen despite the fact that he’s safe, he’s alright.

                He’s been waiting for an attack like this. Life was too peaceful for too long.

                “I know you can do it, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai repeats patiently, even as Hyouga shakes his head back and forth, because he doesn’t get it, it’s not—, “Why is it not working? Can you tell?”

                That one Is obvious.

                “It’s not perfect,” and it comes out more bitter than it should and Fubuki-senpai feels that there’s a story behind those words and Hyouga knows he’s not talking about soccer anymore, there’s only his father hitting his hands with a ruler for not getting the proportions right on his drawing, the constant dread of getting things wrong, “It’s not perfect and that’s why it doesn’t work. It’s not—“ he takes a shaky, deep breath and blinks back tears, “perfect like it should and I can’t. I can’t get it right, I—“

                “It’s not supposed to be perfect, though,” Fubuki-senpai cuts in before Hyouga can spiral down even further, “You’re focusing on that part too much, Yukimura. That’s why it doesn’t work.”

                “But—“

                “There’s no such thing as perfect, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai says and it sounds stern, somber, like the man is speaking from his own experience and Hyouga respects that, so he keeps quiet, steadying his breath, “You will never be perfect, and I think it’s time to accept that. Don’t you think so?”

                Hyouga looks away.

                “I wish more people would think like you, senpai,” he mutters out and it’s hardly audible with a wind this strong and Hyouga’s voice so quiet.

                Fubuki-senpai hears it anyways.

                “Who told you that you have to be perfect, Yukimura?” he asks cautiously, afraid that he may be overstepping his boundaries, and it still makes Hyouga’s mind panic, because now he knows – he knows Fubuki-senpai can never know about Hyouga’s less than normal parents and art and being perfect.

                Hyouga will keep it right here – in his heart – and die with it, and then he will make the man proud, he will complete Eternal Blizzard and—

                “I want to try again,” he’s shaking all over, “One more time. I will get it right. Please, Fubuki-senpai.”

                Perhaps it’s the desperation in his voice or maybe the way his eyes water or maybe just his need to do something right for once, but Fubuki-senpai still stands up and throws a ball at him, then stands on the side, away from him to be able to observe Hyouga more closely.

                Hyouga takes a deep breath, clenches and unclenches his fists and straightens out.

                “One more time, Yukimura! You can do it!”

                “Alright,” he mumbles to himself, then a little more confidently, “Alright.”

                And he kicks it up, and swirls it around and then—

                “I did it!”

                A moment of stunned silence, and then he throws his arms up and he smiles so wide – he doesn’t remember the last time he smiled like that – and the crushing joy overflows his body, nearly drowns him in it and then he’s being hoisted up.

                “You did it,” Fubuki-senpai affirms and— “I knew you could do it, Yukimura.”

                The accomplishment isn’t what did it. It’s not the fact he did it by himself, got it right and made the goal. It’s not that. It’s the pride in Fubuki-senpai’s voice that gets Hyouga choked up and teary eyed. It’s pride for Yukimura Hyouga, the cast out, who did good, for once.

                Fubuki Shirou is proud of him.

                Someone is proud of him.

                This time, something wet slides down his cheek and he thinks for a second that it’s the snowflake, but it’s not and Fubuki-senpai seems to be even more surprised than him to notice his tears.

                “Thank you so much, Fubuki-senpai,” he breathes out, wiping his face with the sleeve of his uniform.

                Fubuki-senpai only smiles, but it’s enough. It was always enough.

 

* * *

 

 

                Hyouga thinks back to before Fubuki Shirou came into his life; thinks about all the times he went to practice at Hakuren’s and was left standing in the middle of the field, ignored; of all the times his teammates, blinded by Fifth Sector’s idea of soccer and coach’s orders, ditched him and glared as if he was some kind of parasite; of the times when he came to train on his own and kicked and kicked the ball until it soothed his anger.

                Things weren’t like that anymore.

                His teammates don’t leave him out now that Fubuki-senpai became their coach. He’s no longer criticized for his plays, rather he’s encouraged and cheered on and for the first time in Hyouga’s life, he feels happy and content. There are no longer glares thrown his way, but kind smiles and—

                And it feels good. It lets Hyouga forget that soccer is not what he’s supposed to do – that one way or another, he will have to be forced to abandon it and focus on art if he wants to keep the roof over his head.

                Those moments remind him that it can get better, that Hyouga doesn’t have to be—

                “Are you alright, Yukimura?” Fubuki-senpai’s voice cuts through his thoughts and for a moment, Hyouga thinks he’s accidentally said something out loud before he remembers that they’re sitting on the bench, drinking the tea Miyuki-san prepared for them, “You’ve been quiet for a while.”

                And Hyouga shrugs, because he’s not one of the talkative bunch – he doesn’t ramble and ramble, because he’s learned it annoys other people. So him keeping his mouth shut is just an excuse to ask about what’s really happening inside of his head. It’s the gentle reminder that Fubuki-senpai may look like a gentle teddy bear and look innocent and oblivious, but he’s actually really observant and notices things right away.

                At first, it rubbed Hyouga the wrong way. He’s used to keeping secrets, holding back his feelings and words. He’s not used to people seeing right through him. But then, it got easier – with Hyouga getting more comfortable sharing his thoughts with others.

                Snow falls around them. Hyouga looks into the distance.

                “I’ve never had someone who would stay with me, even when it’s snowing, to help me practice seriously before,” he admits quietly, as if he was confessing something embarrassing. He can see Fubuki-senpai watching him from the corner of his eye, “I want to get even stronger,” he adds, to not sound like a complete idiot.

                There’s a beat of silence.

                “One day, you’ll have to come up with a hissatsu technique that’s even better than mine.”

                It’s spoken like an off-hand compliment, but it makes something uncurl in Hyouga’s stomach. The stress he didn’t even know was eating at him finally loosening its hold on his chest makes him slump on his seat. If Fubuki-senpai notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

                “I hope so,” he says, then smiles, “I will get even better than you, someday,” he promises feeling courageous and half-expecting the man to react badly to his confidence.

                “We’ll get stronger together, then,” Fubuki-senpai agrees.

                It feels like a promise.

                Hyouga looks back to his thermos and hides his smile.

 

* * *

 

                But then, because everything that’s good eventually goes to shit in Hyouga’s life, Fubuki-senpai doesn’t show up.

                It’s nothing certain, he tells himself, biting down his panic, maybe he forgot.

                Except that’s not the case otherwise the man would have texted him first, just to let him know. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Hyouga isn’t sure of anything anymore, he just knows that it’s not just that day that the man doesn’t show up.

                Because Hyouga waits.

                And waits.

                And eventually it’s almost a week and in that time, Hyouga’s phone not only dies and he’s left without any form of communication with his coach, he’s also not allowed to get a replacement, because his parents “won’t get him a new one or at least repair the first one unless he quits soccer.”

                It’s a shitty condition, but Hyouga’s not surprised. He’s stalled enough. Played more than he did in the last few years and it was fun. But it’s time to face reality.

                On Saturday, he visited Miyuki-san and he must have looks seriously bad, because as soon as she saw him she gasped.

                Hyouga couldn’t muster up the strength to explain.

                “What happened, Yukimura-kun?” she demanded.

                Hyouga couldn’t say it back then, didn’t believe it yet. He knew the second he’d admit it out loud it would become real. And he didn’t— he couldn’t—

                “Yukimura-kun?” her voice softened when she noticed silent tears leaving a wet trail on his cheeks, “Oh, Yukimura-kun,” and then she enveloped him her arms, squeezed not too hard, but not delicately either and ran her fingers through his messy hair, “It’s going to be alright.”

                Maybe she didn’t know about Fubuki-senpai yet. Hyouga just let himself be held.

                On Sunday, Hyouga lost all hope. He didn’t come out of his room and just stared at the wall. He kept thinking it’s just a bad dream. That Fubuki-senpai will come back. He’ s not gone, he couldn’t be gone, he _promised_. But no matter how many times Hyouga stayed behind on school grounds, Fubuki-senpai didn’t show up.

                It hurt.

                Then it hurt even more even though it wasn’t supposed to. Hyouga should have gotten used to it already.

                On Monday, he comes to school and people don’t wave at him, the staff seems to be sad about something and students don’t even glance in his way. When it’s time for practice, Hyouga sluggishly puts on his uniform and waits in the gym.

                His teammates aren’t better either. Well, most of them. The old bunch that was there when Fubuki-senpai was their coach wasn’t in the mood to smile, but the new faces that showed up that day seem to shine happily.

                Then, the new coach comes in.

                Hyouga feels something creeping in his heart, something that wraps around it and squeezes way too hard. It shakes him and doesn’t let up until the words register.

                “Fubuki Shirou-san resigned a week ago,” the man says coldly and it rips into Hyouga’s heart, it cuts into his flesh and it hurts so much, it hurts, “From now on, I’m your new coach and you will be listening to me and Fifth Sector.”

                His teammates don’t take it well.

                “Why didn’t Coach Fubuki just say so?” they argue, “He wouldn’t just leave.”

                But the new coach just smile, and it’s not kind, it’s not meant to be taken as a sympathy, and just says, “He abandoned you. Deal with it.”

                And they do. Deal with it, he means.

                They go back to receiving orders, to following Fifth Sector’s lead. It makes Hyouga sick but for another reason. Because Fubuki-senpai just left, didn’t leave a note, didn’t even show up to say goodbye. He just decided to leave and he was gone.

                At first, Hyouga was just sad. Then disappointment came in waves and once it left, Hyouga was filled with anger.

                Because he’s alone. Again.

                Because Fubuki-senpai promised to help him.

                Because Hyouga was tossed away, like a toy, the minute it was convenient for the man.

                It makes him sick and Hyouga spends days thinking about it. How the ground field begun to feel like a prison. How the ball keeps getting heavier and heavier with each kick. How he goes along with what happened because he can’t deal with reality.

                Then, his coach approaches him and asks, “Do you want to get stronger?”

                And Hyouga’s answer would be ‘no’ but then he remembers the embarrassment and humiliation at getting his hopes up, at believing that Fubuki-senpai would care about him when after all, Hyouga’s just a dumb kid with artistic streak in him.

                He hates Fifth Sector’s soccer. He tells the coach that, but the man just laughs.

                “Don’t you want to get revenge, Yukimura-kun?” he asks and it feels like a trick question, “You were close with Fubuki-san, weren’t you?”

                Hyouga narrows his eyes at him and wants to deny it, wants to resist the urge to say ‘yes’. He clenches his fists.

                “It wasn’t fair to you,” the voice gets softer, “You deserve so much better, Yukimura-kun.”

                He remembers the look in Miyuki-san’s eyes when he came to her, lost and confused, because Fubuki-senpai promised and then left and then Hyouga had to get by on his own. He remembers crying, remembers feeling numb, remembers feeling the raw rejection.

                Hyouga— doesn’t want to. Be alone. Be on his own. He can’t deal with it.

                “Join Fifth Sector,”

                _No…_

                “We will never leave you behind.”

                Hyouga doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

                “Okay.”

                It’s one word. But it’s filled with pain and anguish and he can’t see the man’s smile, but he can feel the way the atmosphere changes. Knows he made a decision that’s going to matter in the future. Knows it’s just a matter of time before he finds out what his agreement really meant.

                He doesn’t care.

               

* * *

 

                Talks with Miyuki-san get more tense and shorter. Hyouga’s rarely at home and he rarely has the time to talk with her when he’s busy catching up with homework when he’s tired from training. Everything changes and he’s left drained, exhausted.

                “It’s wrong,” Miyuki-san says one day, “Yukimura-kun, surely you know it’s not what Fubuki would have wanted—“

                “Well, he’s not here, is he?” he interrupts sharply, because his ex-coach’s name still sends a pang to his chest, still makes him want to cry in his room and hide and deny that Fubuki-senpai would just leave. Just like that.

                Miyuki-san’s expression tells him enough. She doesn’t approve.

                “Do you even know why he resigned?”

                “No.”

                “Then how do you know he wasn’t forced to?” she presses on and she’s getting desperate and Hyouga doesn’t understand why she defends him when, after all, he left her too, “What if he was forced to resign, like many coaches before. Yukimura-kun, didn’t you think about it?”

                He didn’t. Because it doesn’t matter what was Fubuki-senpai’s reason. What matters is that it hurt Hyouga. Because the pain doesn’t ease up. With each day, Hyouga learns that it may never go away. You don’t just forget someone who made you feel like you’re nothing more than a temporary goal.

                “I don’t care,” he decides and it sounds childish even to his ears.

                Yet, it’s true. Because Hyouga would be fine with Fubuki-senpai leaving if he’d only get notified of it, if he’d only knew beforehand so it wouldn’t feel like he’s getting tossed away, like an unimportant object. But he didn’t.

                He doesn’t care about the reason. He’s angry. He’s hurt. And that’s all that matters.

                Miyuki-san wants to say something else. Probably to convince him that it’s the wrong way to go – that training with Fifth Sector isn’t the answer.

                But they both know he wouldn’t listen, so she stays quiet.

                After that, he doesn’t visit her for another week.

                Then, days after that, he brings out his Avatar.

                He thought he would feel better after that. He doesn’t.

__

* * *

 

                He finds out Fubuki-senpai joined Raimon from Fifth Sector.

                He pretends to not feel any resentment and continues on.

 

* * *

 

 

                When the match happens, Hyouga is fuming.

                “You betrayed me,” he spits out and takes sick pleasure of watching Fubuki-senpai’s face twits into shock, “After you said we’d get stronger _together…”_

                The words burn his throat and he’s mildly aware that his eyes get a little watery, but he pushes that feeling away, focuses on his anger, the way Fubuki-senpai talked to him as if he would just go up and apologize and it would be alright.

                It’s not alright.

                ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. Explanations don’t matter. Excuses that are on the tip of Fubuki-senpai’s tongue don’t mean a damn thing, because all Hyouga can feel is the raw pain and rejection in his heart.

                “Yukimura—“

                “Fifth Sector will never betray me,” he continues on and glares at him, tries to convey how furious he is, how much the man hurt him, “And I swore from my heart that I’d get back at you for what you did to me. So I will defeat Raimon and win against you!”

                _I sincerely thought I’d found someone I could believe in for the first time._

_I got stronger because I had you and then—_

                Fubuki-senpai still wants to explain the situation, but in the end, his face goes from shock to something akin to determination and he says, “Raimon’s soccer is tougher than you think it is.”

                It’s a bait. A warning.

                “I’ll beat Raimon with the hissatsu technique I came up with _on my own_ ,” he says pointedly and wants Fubuki-senpai to understand that he still came up with a special move without him, that he didn’t need him and to dig into the wound and remind him that Fubuki-senpai wasn’t there with him as he promised.

                He doesn’t know if the point got across. If it hit Fubuki-senpai or maybe he didn’t care at all.

                He thinks it’s enough. As he walks away from him, he’s aware Fifth Sector stands behind him and supports him. He’s not alone. Or at least, he’s not supposed to be.

                But the match starts and it’s not like he thought it would be. And it’s not right and maybe Hyouga thought it would be – maybe he was lying to himself.

                For the second half of the game, Hyouga feels worse and worse and Raimon is relentless and it— it moves something inside of Hyouga. It makes him see, makes him open his eyes. He knew the Fifth Sector was wrong from the beginning and yet—

                _I chose Fifth Sector’s soccer in order to win against you,_ he thinks, glancing at Fubuki-senpai, _but that was the wrong choice._

                It’s that moment of clarity that allows him to admit that and play to his full ability.

                “You can do it, Yukimura!” Fubuki-senpai shouts loudly, louder than people in the stadium.

                It reaches Hyouga and reminds him of that time when he completed Eternal Blizzard, it fills him with hope and unease at the same time. Because that means forgiveness and Hyouga doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

                The match ends.

                Fubuki-senpai stands in front of Hyouga, extends his hand towards him.

                “Let’s play soccer together again, Yukimura.”

                Hyouga is still in shock and it doesn’t occur to him that something actually happened; can’t comprehend emotions like that in one day. When they leave the stadium, Hyouga can slowly feel himself come back to the sounds of his coach’s yells, he can hear his teammates cheering, some embarrassed, some sad that they lost. Some are like Hyouga – numb.

                The ride back to Hakuren is too long and Hyouga is painfully aware of his lack of phone, of any distraction that would take his focus away from the shame rising in him at the thought of not reaching out to Fubuki-senpai earlier, at the thought of jumping to conclusions instead of taking his time to understand that Fifth Sector is too manipulative to be believable.

                But Fubuki-senpai leaving seemed reasonable.

                Hyouga who had been let down so many times, who has been rejected by adults around him so much they started to ignore him and push him away, he didn’t even think of a possibility that the whole thing could be a misunderstanding.

                People leave Hyouga, just like that. They grow distant.

                And Hyouga never questioned that. It was normal. It was fine.

                It was logical – and yet, at the same time, irrational and dumb.

                Hyouga spends the entire ride back home thinking about it.

 

* * *

 

 

                He spends the next few days holed up in his room. His parents are not pleased.

                “Can’t you make yourself useful?” his mother asks when he comes down at some point.

                Hyouga doesn’t even blink, just stares at her blankly and shrugs, “I will, don’t worry.”

                She doesn’t worry – he knows that. She’s worried about his grades, maybe. Worried about whether he will get into art school or not. Whether he will quit soccer or not. Whether he’s able to bring money into this family or not.

                 But she would never be worried about him. They never were.

                Hyouga thought they did care. Once.

                “You’re going to join the art club,” she says finally after a moment of heavy silence and it’s enough to make Hyouga snap back from whatever trance he’s been stuck in for days, “I’ve already decided.”

                “The soccer club—!”

                “Is not your top priority,” she snaps and Hyouga’s mouth snaps shut, “Art is.”

                He knows he shouldn’t protest, he knew this was long time coming and he shouldn’t be surprised, “But—“

                “No buts!”

                “I don’t want to!”

                Her eyes flashed. He should stop there. He doesn’t. Because Hyouga’s tired of playing good and biting his tongue, of watching things happen to him, of watching things he loves get taken away and made into something horrible, cruel, “Excuse me?”

                “I don’t want to,” he says quieter, more timid, “I don’t. I want to play soccer. I—“

                “Soccer is stupid!” she yells at him, “It’s a stupid, goddamn game. Grow up, Hyouga!”

                There’s something tense in the air – Hyouga can feel it, he sees the way she bares her teeth at him and her hands shake and Hyouga can tell that things are about to get rough and if only he’d keep his mouth shut and obey, a situation like that would never happen.

                “I don’t want to!” he shouts back.

“You will!

                “No!”

                She slaps him.

                The sound seems to echo around the house and everything is suddenly too quiet. His mother breathes heavily, stares at Hyouga, studies him as if expecting another protest. Hyouga wants to – honest to God wants to speak, but there’s something blocking his throat. His eyes sting and he knows, he knows he’s one blow away from bursting into tears.

                His mother knows it too.

                “You’d have to actually be talented and scouted to play seriously,” she continues, brushing her hair out of her face as if she didn’t just hit him, as if Hyouga didn’t feel like shit, “Which you’re not. Art is something that will help out family with bills, Hyouga. It’s good for you.”

                Which basically translates to ‘you’re only important to us because we can use your money’ and that’s fine most of the time, because they lost a lot of money because of Hyouga’s constant transferring but somehow, this time, it feels different. This time, Hyouga realizes it’s not fair.

                Because maybe he’s not the best, but he’s good enough. That’s what Fubuki-senpai said. Hyouga’s not a failure.

                He wants to tell her that. Words get stuck in his throat.

                “Go to your room, Hyouga,” she says and it’s not soft, she doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment, “We will talk about it later.”

                In the end they don’t talk.

                Hyouga shows up at school the next day and forces himself to not cry in the middle of the class.

 

* * *

 

                And then, Fubuki-senpai reclaims his position as a coach.

* * *

 

                Training sessions go like this – Hyouga meets up with Fubuki-senpai on weekends in the early morning on the school grounds. It’s almost the same as before, except it’s not because Hyouga is still without his phone and he can’t just tell Fubuki-senpai this, so he hopes the man doesn’t notice him being on his tip-toes.

                If Hyouga would be honest, he’d say it took some time for him to get back to that routine after the Fifth Sector fiasco. The Hakuren’s soccer club had to heal as well, things had to get better. It all was a slow process.

                Well, as slow as it could get. Fubuki-senpai doesn’t get easy on them.                

                Hyouga’s left on the sidelines there, he’s still uneasy, still watching Fubuki-senpai’s each step and if the man notices him clinging, staring, he doesn’t comment on it. And that’s fine – Hyouga isn’t sure he’d be able to explain the irrational fear of Coach leaving again without sounding like the neediest idiot in the world.

                For the most part – things are good. Actually good. On the less pleasant thought, Hyouga’s still not in the good place. He can’t get a decent hour of sleep, the fridge shines empty and his parents barely look at him after he refused to quit soccer. Which leads to Hyouga going out extra early without a proper breakfast that he knows he should eat, which in turn leads to – well. This. As in Hyouga fainting in the middle of a soccer field.

                “I’m sorry,” he rasps out, an automatic response, but Fubuki-senpai doesn’t reply to that, he keeps standing with his arms crossed over Hyouga seated on the bench, eating a sandwich Fubuki-senpai has given him.  Coach staring at him quickly becomes too much, because while Fubuki-senpai isn’t like the previous coach, he’s still intimidating and Hyouga can feel the flush on his neck, knows that it’s only the matter of time before the questioning starts, “I forgot to eat something before I went out,” he lies.

                Fubuki-senpai is still quiet for a moment and as seconds pass by, Hyouga feels more and more nervous and the traitorous, embarrassed flush travels all up to his face at the thought of Hyouga getting caught in the result of his poor family situation. Then, the man sighs, “Normally, I would believe that.”

                Hyouga swallows, “But?”

                Fubuki-senpai’s usually soft eyes, harden and Hyouga mentally recalls the anger that clouded the man’s face when he found out that Hakuren fell into Fifth Sector’s hands, “But it’s not the first time you came to train on an empty stomach.”

                Hyouga’s first instinct is to be fearful – automatic response to any kind of hint at Hyouga’s life not being good, to any kind of mention that things may not be okay. It’s almost as if Hyouga was designed to  feel like he’s threatened when people show concern. Like they have ulterior motive. But then Hyouga looks up and he sees it clearly – it’s not a threat, it’s not manipulation. Fubuki-senpai’s words are merely an observation – and if Hyouga’s not imagining it – an invitation.

                Fubuki-senpai would never push. That’s both good and bad.

                But he knows better than to worry him and bother with explaining what’s happening. The moment Hyouga’s problems become too much and he becomes a liability – he’s going to be abandoned. Fubuki-senpai does enough for him – from training with him even when snow falls, to helping him with things any parent would, like homework and answering mundane questions about jobs and future.

                He can’t take advantage of that – he has to be cautious because he doesn’t want to lose what he has now.

                As he thinks about what to say, he can feel something hardening even further on Fubuki-senpai’s expression and he hears, distantly, his mother’s voice ,don’t get in the way,’ and it’s all it takes for him to panic.

                He hurries with the explanation.

                “The cats!” he blurts out.

                “The…cats?” Fubuki-senpai’s suspicious frown doesn’t go away but it makes him raise his eyebrows and his voice is on borderline disbelief and exasperation.

                Hyouga scratches his neck, a nervous habit he’s picked on after his art lessons with his dad and bites his lips, “There are cats around the area where I live,” something curls inside of his stomach and pulls, guilt at having to lie to the man seeping through his skin, “I get carried away playing with them and by the time I wake up, it’s too late to go back for breakfast, so,” he shrugs helplessly and watches anxiously as Fubuki-senpai’s gaze pierces right into Hyouga’s soul.

                “I see,” at last, he says slowly, and Hyouga gulps, trying to hide while biting into his sandwich.

                “Yeah,” he says awkwardly.

                There are no other words exchanged and the topic is dropped. Hyouga feels both the disappointment and relief at that.

 

* * *

 

                Or apparently, the topic is not dropped. It may feel like it, because Fubuki-senpai doesn’t say anything outwardly – he’s too nice to push, too respectable to invade Hyouga’s personal space and too cautious around their restoring bond – but it’s not forgotten. Hyouga was stupid to think that something like him fainting would be so easily brushed off.

                Fubuki-senpai is practical. And adaptable. Throw something and him and he’s gonna intercept it and turn it around so it suits him. It’s kind of scary for a person like Hyouga – who has to be careful with his words and hold himself back at every step and there are no chances of him taking something and owning it. Maybe that’s why the way Fubuki-senpai shows he cares baffles him.

                And that’s probably also why Hyouga can’t wrap his head around the idea of what just occurred.

                “We’re going to eat something first,” Fubuki-senpai announces next weekend when Hyouga arrives at their usual place.

                The man zipped up his own coat because it’s way too cold, but despite the wind, he’s not wearing the woolen scarf in his hand. Hyouga can only stare at him and wonder why. If he could, he’d wrap himself in thousands of layers. He’s lived in Hokkaido for years now, and the cold usually doesn’t bother him when he’s playing, but he’s still not used to the weather.

                “Why?” Hyouga asks and even though the answer is pretty freaking clear, Fubuki-senpai answers anyways.

                “I’m hungry,” he smiles at him, “Aren’t you?”

                Because of course it’s that simple for him. It’s easy for Fubuki-senpai to look at him pointedly, and say things that are innocent and pure, but at the end of the day, Hyouga knows best. Fubuki Shirou is also a little shit.

                He still shudders at the memory of the first trainings they had as a Hakuren’s soccer team, he remembers the raw pain in his muscles and satisfaction at being able to use his full potential. And they all knew by the time the training ended, that Fubuki-senpai only had to look at them once and he already knew their weaknesses and strengths. It didn’t change the fact that Fubuki-senpai is stern. He may not look like it, but he knows his stuff and while it’s always fun at practice, it’s also exhausting as hell. When he sees you can work something out, he gives you a light nudge in that direction. If you can’t do it, he tries to help.

                He’s slowly became the team’s Dad. It’s almost hilarious if it didn’t make Hyouga nervous about accidentally slipping up and calling him exactly that.

                As if on the call, Hyouga’s stomach growls. Something dark passes by on Fubuki-senpai’s face when he mutters  out an embarrassed ,“Yeah.”

                And then the wind blows again and it’s as if the air got under Hyouga’s clothes and hugged him. It’s awful, it feels like he’s too hot and freezing at the same time. He doesn’t know if he’s getting sick or if the shame is just getting to him. He tries to hide the shiver.

                As usual. It doesn’t work.

                “Here,” Fubuki-senpai throws the scarf around his neck and swathed it so it covered his exposed skin, “Just looking at you makes me cold.”

                Hyouga thinks about the time he asked his mother for a new jacket because his old one had holes in it. He remembers being almost nine years old, walking up to her and asking, and the memory gets blurry, but he can still see it was the wrong timing and she was hunched over some bills, probably from moving out so much and Hyouga’s question set her off. He remembers it was the last time he asked for a new piece of clothing. 

                It’s so different with Fubuki-senpai. So different Hyouga sometimes doesn’t know how to act.

                _This winter is supposed to be bad,_ Hyouga then briefly thinks back to the news report yesterday, and Hyouga did mention having rough time warming up some time ago.

                “That’s—“ he stutters, “I don’t need it, Fubuki-senpai. Really. I’m fine.”

                There’s a moment of hesitation and as Hyouga  raises his hand to unwrap the scarf, Fubuki-senpai’s  careful words cut in.

                “It belonged to my twin brother once,” he offers as if that explains everything when it fact it makes Hyouga feel worse, because he _doesn’t deserve it_ — “Atsuya. He died in an avalanche when we were younger.”

                The car accident. Hyouga feels mildly sick thinking about it.

                “Why are you giving me this then?” he gulps and fists his hands into the material of his uniform, “It surely must be precious to you, senpai. I don’t want to ruin it.”

                Even if the man’s face was clouded before, now it’s crystal clear, “I’ve moved on, Yukimura. I don’t remember you wearing one, either.” When Hyouga still stares at him hesitantly, Fubuki-senpai smiles, “Keep it. It will make me happy.”

                There’s still unease in Hyouga’s chest, but slowly, he lowers his hands and nods once. Fubuki-senpai’s smile becomes more fond, before he sighs happily, “Alright. Now that you won’t freeze on me, let’s go get some food in us.”

 

* * *

 

                It becomes a regular thing. Before each training, Fubuki-senpai takes Hyouga to a new cat café that opened a few weeks ago and if the situation calls for it, pays for his food. Hyouga’s by all means not poor, but with his parents not accepting his decision and keeping their distance, his pocket money considerably decreased.

                “I will pay you back,” Hyouga says hotly, when Fubuki-senpai says it’s no problem, he has enough money for buying a meal or two a week.

                “You don’t have to,” he says amused.

                Fubuki-senpai probably doesn’t know how much that means to him. How the fact that Fubuki-senpai upon learning he doesn’t have time for eating breakfast, takes his time, his precious free time and takes him here. He probably doesn’t know it makes Hyouga want to cry – that small acts of kindness like those make it really hard for Hyouga to not get attached again.

                “No. I will,” he insists.

                Fubuki-senpai only shakes his head.

                It goes like this for the next few times. Just when Hyouga thinks the man can’t become more reliable and cooler, something happens.

                “I couldn’t reach your phone,” Fubuki-senpai mentions one day when they’re finishing their food at the café, “Back when Fifth Sector told me to resign.”

                Hyouga focuses his whole attention at petting the nearest pet and shrugs.

                “Maybe you pressed the wrong button,” he deflects, “Which one of the cats you like the most, Fubuki-senpai?”

                But Fubuki-senpai is far from stupid and so, he doesn’t let Hyouga get away with anymore bullshit, “The white one. Miya. Yukimura, did something happen to your phone?”

                Because maybe if Hyouga remembered to actually get a new phone back then, accidents like the Fifth Sector fiasco wouldn’t happen. If Hyouga only had a phone to contact Fubuki-senpai and make sure it’s not a misunderstanding, maybe they wouldn’t even sit next to each other, petting cats.

                “It broke,” he finally admits.

                “Broke,” Fubuki-senpai repeats dully.

                “Yeah,” he leaves the fork on the plate and takes the white cat on his lap, scratching it behind its ears, “Mom wouldn’t get it fixed, so I’m running without it.”

                “Your mother?”

                Sensing the conversation going in the wrong direction, Hyouga backtracks, “It’s just. Low on money, you know? That kind of thing,” a lie, a dirty, little white lie, “It’s fine. I don’t really need it.”

                “It would be helpful, though. In case an emergency comes up.”

                “Doubt it,” Hyouga waves it off.

                Then, after a moment, “I’m not able to reach you if something comes up and I’m unable to come.”

                Right.

                Because Hyouga has a bad habit of trusting too easily, and relying on people without thinking about the fact that people have their lives and they are not obliged to spend time with him and their personal life is important as well. Sometimes, people have to reschedule meetings. It happens. He doesn’t know why that thought was pushed far into the back of his mind when the whole thing was kind of what caused the rift between them that time.

                “Oh,” slips out and he scratches his neck, “I will… I will try to fix it then. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it.”

                Because  apparently Hyouga doesn’t think about a lot of things.

                Fubuki-senpai still studies him. Becomes suspicious. Hyouga never wanted this to get to that kind of point – where Hyouga gets attached to yet another adult and expects that adult to stay and care for him the way his parents never would – because then Hyouga is forced to hide the truth behind the doors and pretend everything’s alright. Fubuki-senpai doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

                And yet, that’s what Hyouga keeps doing. Lying.

                “If you need any help, you know you can come to me, right, Yukimura?”

                Hyouga blinks back tears that threaten to slide down his cheeks again and musters out a weak smile, “Yes. Of course.”

                But he knows how that would end. It’s how things always end. Hyouga opens up and suddenly he’s too much to handle.

                He doesn’t want to lose Fubuki-senpai and the warmth that comes from being cared for, so he knows, even if he says it like that, Hyouga could never burden the man with something so trivial as Hyouga’s home problems.

                “Eat your vegetables,” Fubuki-senpai changes the topic, noticing the carrots left on the plate, “They’re healthy.”

                “Don’t like them,” Hyouga mumbles.

                “Sometimes, we just have to deal, Yukimura. Eat them, you’re too skinny for your age.”

                “Am not skinny.”

                “I was never fat either, but even I wasn’t that thin. Your ribs are practically showing.”

                Hyouga lowers himself on his seat, mumbling into the scarf, defensively, “Not true.”

                “True, now eat.”

                It’s not the ideal – they have lots of ways to go.

                Somehow, they make it work.

 

* * *

 

                The scarf doesn’t leave Hyouga for days. It’s not the matter of being cold anymore, or needing an extra layer of clothes. For whatever reason, the scarf made Hyouga feel safe – something Hyouga doesn’t remember feeling for a while. It’s fine either way, because no one comments on it even if they see it.

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t call him out on it either. Hyouga figures it’s okay.

                His parents are still not responding to him – not until he agrees that soccer is unnecessary and stupid, not until he starts to do art seriously like before – and a deep ache settles in Hyouga’s chest. It follows him wherever he goes and disturbs whatever peace he’s managed to get back after Fifth Sector.

                It’s not bad enough for his team to notice – Hyouga manages almost perfectly at practice. Soccer distracts him enough – but when he’s off the field, the nagging feeling doesn’t let him catch his breath.

                That’s not the worst. Maybe it would be, but then:

                “Hakuren’s holding a Talent Show,” one of the girl managers of the soccer club says once the practice is over.

                No one is surprised. Except Hyouga, because he’s first year at Hakuren and a transfer student at that – with his history of changing schools, he didn’t even hope for staying at Hakuren so long to even attend one of Hakuren’s festivals. He didn’t even bother reading them up.

                “Excuse me,” he speaks up, catching her attention, “Talent Show?”

                Her face brightens out and he briefly remembers her introducing herself as Kou, “Yes! Each class is making a play. We call it a Talent Show because everybody can show off their own skills on the stage.”

                Hyouga nods, “I see.”

Then he finds out, every time Hakuren has a special event like this, parents are given invites, so that they can watch their child perform on stage. Which, to Hyouga is baffling. It wouldn’t be his first time, per se, it’s not that he hasn’t been into plays at all.

It was just that Hyouga didn’t like those events that much. His parents didn’t bother with coming to them, and so every time Hyouga stepped on the stage, he was the only one not having someone watch him perform.

“It’s not a big deal,” Hyouga says when Fubuki-senpai asks why he doesn’t look as excited as others, “No one will come anyway.”

Fubuki-senpai frowns at him, and there’s that conflicted look in his eyes, but other than that, the man lets the topic go. Hyouga’s glad – he’s not the fan of discussing his childish desire to be seen by his parents and the disappointment he knows he will feel when he won’t see them on that day at school.

When his class brainstorms about what kind of play they’re going to make, he thinks he won’t even have to show up – roles are being filled in surprisingly fast and not everyone is big on performing.

But then, the same girl who told him about Talent Show, notices him staring at the group and asks, loud enough to make the group notice him:

“Yukimura-kun! Do you play any instruments?”

The class president lifts her head from the papers scattered on the desk and she smiles at him when he startles at the question, “We’re looking for someone to play violin,” she explains.

Hyouga really doesn’t want to go and it’s not like he has any reason to, but he finds himself nodding, “I played violin when I was younger.”

Her eyes light up, “Really? Could you help us with that then? Pretty please, Yukimura-san!”

And that’s how he finds himself surrounded by all of the class, practically begging him to take the role because no one else happened to play violin and he doesn’t even have to do much, just stand in the middle of the stage at the end and play one of the pieces the other classmate composed.

He agrees. He’s decent at playing either way, and violin was one of the things that haven’t been approved by his parents but he still enjoyed it nonetheless. Even after he was forced to stop.

“Violin, huh?” Fubuki-senpai hums when Hyouga tells him about it the next day at cat cafe, “Isn’t that one of the main roles?”

Hyouga shrugs, not because he doesn’t know or because he doesn’t really want to answer, but because it truly doesn’t matter to him, “I think so. Maybe. I play at the beginning, the middle and end.”

Fubuki-senpai glances at him, “I’d say it’s a main role.”

“Maybe,” Hyouga agrees halfheartedly, “What was the Talent Show like when you went to Hakuren, senpai?”

Fubuki-senpai is quiet for a moment, as if weighing his words, before he answers, “Same as yours. I didn’t play any instrument, though. Atsuya, however,” the man’s face darkens for a second, before a soft smile appears on his lips, “He played piano. He was practically the star of the show.”

Hyouga opens his mouth, but closes it almost as fast, not sure if it’s his place to ask. Fubuki-senpai didn’t bring up his brother a lot – Hyouga always figured it’s a sore spot so he didn’t ask either. The curiosity eats at him from the inside, and perhaps if he dared to—

“I don’t mind,” Fubuki-senpai interrupts his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You want to ask me something, don’t you?” Fubuki-senpai glances at him, before his attention is stolen by Miya, the white Persian cat, “Go ahead.”

“But—“ he trails off, huffing, “I’m not—“

 _I’m not supposed to ask questions_ , is what he meant to say, because that’s the main case, Hyouga comes from a family that closes off its members, everybody does their own thing and doesn’t care to inform others of it. That’s why Hyouga doesn’t have any contact with his other part of the family.  And that’s probably why each question is treated as a personal attack.

It’s irrational, but a part of Hyouga is still cautious about it. He knows Fubuki-senpai wouldn’t lash out like his mom, but he also doesn’t exclude the possibility of the man getting offended with him or angry.

“If I didn’t want to answer, I’d tell you that,” Fubuki-senpai says matter-of-factly, “I always nag you about stuff. You’re allowed to ask me things, too.”

 _You’re gonna change your mind_ , passes through his mind.

 _You will get angry, give me silent treatment and ignore me,_ screams at him.

 _I don’t want to upset you_ , is the third thought and it burns Hyouga’s throat.

Fubuki-senpai sees it – he always does, that’s what makes it so difficult for Hyouga  to hide when’s he’s having a hard time – and studies him for a moment, before something clicks for him and he asks, “Do you want to know more about Atsuya?”

Hyouga tears his gaze away from the man and locks it on the nearest cat, skin flushing all way to the neck and heart racing, expecting an outburst. An automatic response at this point, because he knows Fubuki-senpai wouldn’t hurt him like that. He jerks a nod and waits.

“In a way, you remind me of him a lot,” Fubuki-senpai admits.

Hyouga’s eyes widen, maybe more in disbelief this time, than panic, “Really?”

He nods, “You’re both very stubborn,” he says and a fond smile finds its way onto his face, “He wouldn’t ask for help either. It got him in trouble more times than I can remember.”

There’s a little piece of Hyouga that practically eats that information and files it away, greedy for more. It shouldn’t make him so happy to hear about Fubuki-senpai’s brother – he’s dead after all and surely, it still hurts to remember him, but he’s curious. So far, Fubuki-senpai, aside from Miyuki-san, is the only adult that cared enough to let him in his life. There was no mocking even if what Hyouga wanted to ask was childish.

And maybe that’s what Hyouga secretly wanted – to be acknowledged and noticed, but not laughed at or ridiculed.

“He—“ Hyouga clears his throat, “He also played soccer?”

Fubuki-senpai pets the cat for a little longer, before his head turns to Hyouga, “As a forward, yes,” he nods slowly and snorts, “He was very reckless, so a lot of people underestimated him,” there’s a mysterious look in his eyes when he smiles at Hyouga, “Another thing you have in common.”

Hyouga splutters, “I am not reckless.”

Fubuki-senpai raises an eyebrow at him, challenging. Hyouga slides down further on his seat and hides his pout in the scarf, “Yukimura.”

“Maybe a little,” Hyouga allows after a moment.

Fubuki-senpai shakes his head, then turns around to glance at the clock hanging at the back of the café, “It’s getting late,” he says to him, “I’m sure your parents must be wondering where you are.”

The tone of his voice suggests that there’s something hidden between those words. Hyouga doesn’t take the bait and shrugs, “They know I stay out late.”

Fubuki-senpai eyes don’t leave his face, observing, “Are they coming to the Talent Show?”

Hyouga manages to catch himself and not flinch. He covers his surprise by rubbing his neck with his hand and shrugs once again, “Maybe.”

More like, no. Because his parents are still at war with him.

Because he chose soccer over stupid art.

Bitterness starts to bubble its way to his throat, slowly turning into shallow pain of knowing that he will never be enough for them, not until he does everything like they say. A part of him knows he owns them that with Hyouga transferring into different schools and costing them money, but another suggests that it’s not fair, he doesn’t deserve to be tied to their wishes.

Usually, the guilt wins. He knows it’s a matter of time before he will have to leave the soccer club.

“They don’t usually come to things like that,” he whispers suddenly and he doesn’t really know why, because Fubuki-senpai surely doesn’t want to hear about this, but once he starts talking, he can’t really stop. By the way Fubuki-senpai leans on the table, he knows he’s listening. It makes the tightness in his throat burn, “Like I said it’s not. It’s not a big deal, senpai. Just a stupid show. They’re busy with their jobs, so I get it.”

There’s not even a hint of hesitance when Fubuki-senpai murmurs, “But it’s important to you.”

Hyouga shifts on his seat and clears his throat again and again, blinking back tears, because yes, in a way, it is. Because Hyouga’s just a kid and there’s only so much he can handle before it becomes too much and pushes at his chest, trapping him in an endless ‘ _am I not good enough, did I do something bad, why don’t they talk to me_ ,’ cycle, “Yes,” he admits in a small voice, almost ashamed.

Fubuki-senpai doesn’t say anything.

* * *

 

“There’s a Talent Show at your school,” his mother says over dinner.

Hyouga doesn’t raise his head, “Yes.”

His father glances at the invite in her hands and frowns disapprovingly at it, seeing his name signed next to a ‘violin player’, “We’re not coming,” he decides.

Hyouga doesn’t want to think about the fact that “we’re not coming,” is practically the first thing they say to him after a week or more of not speaking to him and nods in acknowledgement. There’s no use insisting they come.

“You quit violin,” his mother points out after a minute of silence.

 _Dangerous_ , he thinks, but answers anyways, “A classmate asked me to play. No one else did.”

His mother huffs, “Well, make sure it’s only this time. I don’t like you playing.”

“It’s a waste of time,” his father agrees.

His mother’s eyes flash and her hands fidget with her fork, when he doesn’t say anything to that, “Isn’t that right, Hyouga?”

Suddenly, Hyouga is not hungry anymore, “Yes,” he answers, but there’s no feeling in it, just resignation.

She nods, satisfied, “Good. Don’t expect us to come. We have better things to do.”

“We still want you to pursue art,” his father adds a second later, “so don’t think you’re off the hook.”

It doesn’t really change anything. At least, that’s what Hyouga thinks, because no other words are spoken and the next thing Hyouga knows, he’s at school on the day of the Talent Show, sitting on the bench behind the curtains with violin in hands.

He tries to focus, recalls his notes. Two of his classmates are still talking near him and it’s driving him crazy, before he finally catches what makes them so talkative.

“I saw your mom in the front row,” blonde one said, Sakura, the first-year at Hakuren, “She’s really pretty.”

“Really? I wanna see, move!”

And they peek through the curtain. Hyouga rolls his eyes.

“Excited, aren’t they?”

Hyouga jumps on his seat, turning to regard the class president with a look of remorse. She chuckles at that and waves her hand, “You should be more aware of your surroundings, Yukimura-kun.”

“You’re like a ninja,” he defends.

“Sorry, I will make sure to wear a bell next time,” she promises before she glances at the two girls talking, “Are your parents here?”

Hyouga tries not to wince, remembering that it’s normal for parents to come to events like these, but abnormal for them to not show up. He opens his mouth to respond, but the class president suddenly gasps, “Is that Fubuki-san?”

Hyouga’s heart clenches painfully, before he’s out of his chair and up next to the curtain, peeking like the rest of them. In the mass of heads, he can clearly see the familiar silhouette sitting down next to one of the chatting moms. In seconds,  the mom notices Fubuki-senpai and no longer than a minute later, they’re both laughing at something. Hyouga figures that maybe the mother is sharing her stories about her child 

“Why is he in the front row?” the class president wonders out loud, “It’s for the parents.”

Hyouga recoils and nearly falls down on his ass. It’s true. The first two or three rows are always reserved for the families of the performing students. And Fubuki-senpai didn’t have anyone left anymore, but—

                Maybe, a relative?

                Then, a selfish part of his whispers, ‘ _maybe he’s here for you.’_

                The nerves that usually don’t kick in, appear to be making an appearance, because Hyouga’s parents aren’t present at events that Hyouga could possible mess up, so he never worries about them judging him, but this time, there’s Fubuki-senpai in the audience.

                He doesn’t want to disappoint him.

                Then, there’s a teacher calling out for them. The class presidents abruptly lets go of the curtains, almost hitting Hyouga with them in the face, and whisper-hisses at him, “C’mon, it’s starting!”

                Hyouga doesn’t even have the time to chicken out before he’s shoved in the middle of the stage, violin ready and heart beating awfully fast from stress. He tightens his fingers on the bow and anxiously watches as they unveil the curtains.

                The light hits him square in the face before he blinks and adjusts to it. He sends a panicked look to the teacher but he only gives him thumbs up, not really offering any help. He swallows down hard, and returns his gaze to the awaiting audience.

                And then, he finds Fubuki-senpai in the first row and maybe he’s imagining it, but the man smiles reassuringly at him and seems to be mouthing something similar to ‘you can do it, Yukimura’.

                So Hyouga takes a deep breath, places the bow on the strings—

                And plays.

 

* * *

 

                Later, after the Talent Show ends and kids are taken by their parents home, Fubuki-senpai catches Hyouga just as he exists the school.

                “You did great, Yukimura,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

                And maybe it’s that simple, small thing that does it in. Maybe it’s the fact that Fubuki-senpai showed up for Hyouga and watched the whole play; maybe it’s because Hyouga is so used to being alone at events like that, that someone showing up surprised him so much.

                Maybe, just maybe, it’s because there’s no ‘you messed this up, Yukimura,’ or ‘you missed a note in that act, Yukimura,’ or ‘you could have done that better, I’m disappointed in you, Yukimura,’. There’s not even a hint of displeasure in Fubuki-senpai’s voice, just pride.

                Hyouga thinks, it’s that pride that makes him so choked up, that makes tears appear in his eyes. The fact that someone sees him and compliments him and—

                Hyouga covers his eyes with his arm, only managing a shaky, “thank you,” before he breaks down for real.

                _It’s such a stupid, simple thing_ , Hyouga thinks, desperately wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, _there’s no reason to cry._

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t seem to care, or maybe, Hyouga’s just that far gone to not see anything off, before he cautiously puts an arm around him and brings him closer. It’s awkward at first, unpracticed and strange, with Hyouga holding the case of his violin, before Fubuki-senpai quietly says, “It’s okay, Yukimura.”

                “I just— I want to—“ he sobs into Fubuki-senpai’s jacket, “I’m sorry—“

                “It’s fine,” he repeats firmly, “Let it out, Yukimura. It’s okay.”

                And it is. In that one moment, it’s okay and Hyouga allows himself to bawl his eyes out, allows himself to cling, allows himself to be vulnerable.

 

* * *

 

 

                They don’t mention Hyouga’s outburst, but the gap that was created back when Fubuki-senpai had to resign as a coach and left without explanation, seemed to close.

                And then, they visit North Ridge together.

                “Are you sure it’s alright, Fubuki-senpai?”

                And Fubuki-senpai, because he is a saint, doesn’t shout at him to finally shut up, but answers for the hundred time, “It’s fine, Yukimura. Don’t worry.”

                But he worries anyways, because it’s a big deal, a really BIG deal, like with capital ‘B’ to emphasize how important the trip to North Ridge is to both Fubuki-senpai and Hyouga. It’s not another day of training or even eating at cat café, it’s visiting a family shrine and if that isn’t stressing enough, the fact that Fubuki-senpai just casually suggested it makes it ten times worse.

                Because you don’t take a random kid to your dead family’s shrine. Which implies that maybe, Hyouga isn’t just a student and maybe, he’s not overstepping when he begins to think of Fubuki-senpai as less than a mentor and more as a first, positive parental figure in his life.

                They finally stop in front of it and the first thing that catches his eyes is not the parents grave, but the ‘Fubuki, Atsuya,’ on the right which Fubuki-senpai kneels down next to, placing an iris in front of the picture of Atsuya. He stays silent after that.

                It makes Hyouga feel like he’s intruding. Like it’s something he’s not meant to see. Something private. As he clenches a pair of mittens in his hands, he wonders if maybe he should give Fubuki-senpai some space and retreat.

                “I bet he’s proud of you, senpai,” comes out of his mouth instead and he freezes as soon as Fubuki-senpai turns to look at him.

                When he smiles, it’s not the man’s usual smile. This one seems more honest, more raw. Like there’s nothing to hide, not anymore, which brings Hyouga to conclusion that he somehow said the right thing, “You think so?” Hyouga nods timidly, and the man sighs, “Well, I hope so. I didn’t go that far only to have him disappointed in my life choices.”

                Finally, Hyouga musters out courage to move and slowly makes his way to the tomb, carefully kneeling next to Fubuki-senpai. He hesitates for a second, thinking if it’s okay, before he takes out the pale orange mittens and places them next to an iris, “I knitted them myself,” he says awkwardly, feeling the need to explain himself.

                Fubuki-senpai’s smile gets wider and he snorts a laugh. Hyouga sends him a questioning look. The man only shakes his head, “It’s nothing, Yukimura.”

                They sit like that for a little while.

                Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s intruding anymore.

 

* * *

 

                 His mother comes to Hakuren.

                It goes like this:

                Hyouga arrives at school at seven to be at morning practice. It’s still cold outside so they let them use the gym – Hyouga’s glad because the even though he knows he should be used to the freezing wind outside, the air bothers him on a daily basis. Coach goes easy on them, because everyone looks tired. That’s fine.

                Then, he goes for his morning classes, passes the pop quiz from Japanese and manages pretty well until it’s time for classes to end. As he walks out of his classroom, he passes by the teacher’s lounge. He peeks through the door, wondering if maybe Fubuki-senpai still hasn’t left and then he sees her.

                She stands with his homeroom teacher, with her hands on her hips, fingers impatiently tapping on them. Her expression is carefully schooled in faked interest, but Hyouga knows best – he knows she’s holding back some venomous response to whatever his homeroom teacher is saying.

                He crosses his arms, taking a step back, ready to flee when he bumps into someone.

                “Yukimura?”

                Hyouga’s primal instinct is to run, but he forces it down to look at Fubuki-senpai properly, “Senpai,” he greets with a barely stable voice.

                Fubuki-senpai tilts his head, opens his mouth – probably to ask if he’s okay – before he catches someone’s look over Hyouga’s  shoulder and immediately his eyes turn colder. Before he can figure out why, a firm and certainly not a gentle hand is placed on his arm.

                “Hyouga,” his mother drawls out slowly and she doesn’t even glance at Fubuki-senpai, choosing to ignore him and the way he seems to be glaring at her, “You’re here. Good. We were just talking about you.”

                Hyouga can feel himself tremble and this time it’s not because it’s cold, but because the sight of his mother could only mean one thing and the one thing that Hyouga is definitely not prepared for, “Right,” he tightens his hold on his arms and tries to make himself smaller.

                Her smile is not friendly, it may look like to someone who hasn’t lived with her for their entire life, but Hyouga sees it – a warning, a reminder to behave like he should and obey. It scares him, it always have, it’s just that Hyouga only now realized how much it affects him, “Come on in, sweetheart.”

                Hyouga doesn’t want to, but his body moves by itself, closing the safe distance between them. His mother lets him go, and a cold sweat runs down his back. His hands shake and he tries to hide it by keeping them firmly on his arms.

                “Excuse me,” Fubuki-senpai cuts in, voice pleasant and he firmly puts himself in front of Hyouga, sending a smile in the direction of the relieved homeroom teacher, “Could I be present for this discussion?”

                Yamada-sensei opens her mouth, ready to agree, when Hyouga’s mother levels him with a look of displeasure, “What for?” she asks annoyed, “I don’t need an outsider’s opinion  as to what to do with my child.”

                “I’m Yukimura-kun’s coach,” Fubuki-senpai replies coolly and smiles at her tightly when she visibly recoils, “I believe the case involves me. Am I right?” he looks at Yamada-sensei, “I’m guessing it’s about Yukimura’s removal from the team?”

                Hearing him say it almost makes Hyouga flinch, not so much as the truth of it, but the fact that Fubuki-senpai somehow knew about Hyouga’s predicament. His mother doesn’t even bat an eye, but she huffs and waves her hand, “Be my quest then. I’m not changing my decision.”

                “Thank you,” he says, but it’s clear that he’s not sincere in that. His mother must have sensed it as well because she narrows her eyes at him.

                “Yukimura-kun?” Yamada-san speaks softly to him and he jerks his head in her direction, clearly on edge, “You can take a seat. This may take a while.”

                So that’s what Hyouga does, crammed in a small space between his mother, his teacher, and Fubuki-senpai who keeps looking at him, silently asking for something. Hyouga looks away, keeps his eyes on his lap, ashamed.

                “Fubuki-san, as you can see, Yukimura-san came here to discuss her son’s—“ Yamada-sensei trails off, apparently not happy at all with the situation, “other abilities. Abilities that require more time.”

                “And soccer is interfering with it,” his mother interjects.

                Hyouga’s hunched forward as he swallows and tries to calm himself enough to contribute to the discussion and maybe, just maybe, convince his mother that soccer is not useless, that he loves it and feels free playing. Yet, one look at his mother’s steel face and he knows – there’s nothing that could change the way she’s thinking. There’s no way out of this one. He stalled enough.

                “Yes…” Yamada-sensei nods her head slowly, but she doesn’t seem to agree, “That’s why Yukimura-san wants Yukimura-kun to quit soccer and join the art club. This way, he could master his skills more.”

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t even blink, “Is that what Yukimura wants, though?”

                The room freezes.

                “Excuse me,” his mother’s flat voice sends Hyouga flinching the other way, just so he wouldn’t have to look at her anger.

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t back down, “You heard me, Yukimura-san. Is that what he wants?”

                “It doesn’t matter what he wants—“

                Yamada-sensei shifts, “Actually, it does.”

                His mother turns to stare at her, “I’m sorry, what?”

                “Hakuren has a solid policy on that. No student should ever be forced to engage in any activity that may or may not be causing him discomfort or make him unhappy. Those are our rules, Yukimura-san.” Yamada-sensei doesn’t even look apologetic, if anything – she looks oddly pleased watching his mother’s face twitch in irritation.

                And then, his mother suddenly switches tactics and turns to smile at him, like she did before he started to focus on soccer more than art, before she became so controlling, “Hyouga, you’d want us to be happy, wouldn’t you?”

                Hyouga stiffens.

                “Yukimura-san…” Yamada-sensei tries to interrupt.

                “Your papa and I would be very proud of you if you’d pursue art,” she says calmly, and it feels wrong the way she says it, feels wrong to have her touch his hair and stroke it, “You know it, don’t you?”

                Hyouga flinches, “Yes,” he whispers, submissive.

                His mother hums, “We did a lot for you, remember? All those schools,” her fingers tighten on his scalp for a second, before they move on, “Your papa and I love you very much. We’re doing this for you. Don’t you know, Hyouga?” she peers at his face, but he doesn’t meet her eyes, “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last week, right?”

                The week of ignoring him and pretending he doesn’t exist, goes unsaid, but he hears it anyway and it hurts, and it hurts even more when he knows he will be alone again. 

                “Right,” he closes his eyes.

                “Then you know—“

                “Do you remember the first time you completed Eternal Blizzard, Yukimura?” Fubuki-senpai finally speaks up over her, turning so he can face both her and Hyouga, “Do you?”

                Hyouga gives him a perplexed look, almost offended that Fubuki-senpai would even suggest Hyouga forgetting about it, “Yes.”

                “And how did it feel?”

                Hyouga frowns, “It felt… good,” he says, hesitantly.

                Fubuki-senpai nods, eager spark in his eyes, “And when you fought against Raimon. You scored a goal with your own hissatsu technique, didn’t you?”

                “…Yeah.”

                “It was amazing, Yukimura.”

                Hyouga finally lifts his head a little, “Yeah,” he agrees, a bit more confident.

                And then, Fubuki-senpai looks straight into Hyouga’s mother’s eyes, a satisfied almost-smirk on his face, “And how do you feel about art, Yukimura?”

                Hyouga freezes only for a moment, before he answers in a small voice, “I don’t like it,” he admits.

                His mother doesn’t even bother hiding her venomous look thrown his way and angrily stands up, pointing a finger in Fubuki-senpai’s direction, “You’re corrupting him!”

                Fubuki-senpai lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Is that so,” he drawls out.

                “He’s been fine before you came,” she snaps, “Then you show up and suddenly he doesn’t want to do art, doesn’t listen to a single thing I say. Stays out late and doesn’t call.”

                “Maybe he doesn’t call you, because his phone broke and you didn’t bother fixing it,” Fubuki-senpai points out, standing up and effectively blocks Hyouga’s view of his mother, “And maybe he started staying out late, because every time he comes back home, he’s either ignored or criticized.”

                Hyouga doesn’t remember a time where his mother would be made speechless. Her mouth is open in disbelief and she’s spluttering something. It’s all gibberish and it’s clear she doesn’t know how to respond to THAT. It makes Hyouga feel slightly less on edge.

                Yamada-sensei hides her smile behind her hand, “In that case, I think it’s pretty clear what should be done,” she sends Hyouga a soothing smile, “Yukimura-kun, you want to stay in soccer club, don’t you?”

                “Hyouga don’t even—“

                “Yes,” he whispers grateful. His mother throws him a betrayed look.

                Yamada-sensei nods, “Then it’s settled.” She turns to look at his mother, “I you’d like to discuss it further with the principal, I’m not stopping you, Yukimura-san. Although,” she says just as his mother turns on her heel to stalk out of the room, “With Yukimura-kun’s _skills_ , I doubt the board would be willing to let go of such _talented_ young man,” she stresses those words and smiles even wider.

                His mother storms out of the room, shutting the door with a thunderous thud. It makes all of them wince.

                When he can’t hear her footsteps anymore, Hyouga practically sags on his seat, head in his hands. He takes a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest, and he shakes like a leaf. He doesn’t think he can go home after that.

                “Yukimura-kun?” Yamada-sensei grasps his attention, voice sympathetic, “Do you need a ride home?”

                He shakes his head.

                Yamada-sensei bites her lip, “Are you sure? I’m sure Fubuki-san wouldn’t mind driving you.”

                _I don’t want to go home_ , he thinks.

                “I will be okay,” he says, but both of them can feel he doesn’t really mean that. He’s far from being okay, muscles tense and aching, mind overwhelmed. Hyouga just wants to go lay down and sleep all this off, in hopes it’s all just another nightmare.

                Then, Fubuki-senpai takes his messenger bag, slings it over his shoulder and looks at Yamada-sensei, “I will take him,” he decides.

                The teacher lets out a breath and nods, relieved, “Thank you, Fubuki-san.”

                Hyouga lets himself be pulled to his feet, slightly wobbly, before Fubuki-senpai puts an arm around him and steadies him, “Let’s go, Yukimura,” he murmurs, gently pushing him through the door.

                They don’t talk much about it. Hyouga doesn’t remember much of it, barely registering passing the hallways and going down the stairs. He breaks out of his trance just as they exit the building and head towards Fubuki-senpai’s car

                The first thing he feels is freezing cold, before a jacket is thrown at him. Hyouga yelps and catches it with the tips of his fingers, seconds before its fall on the snow. Fubuki-senpai, only in his long sleeved shirt now, unlocks the car as he says, “Put it on. You will catch a cold otherwise.”

                So Hyouga does. The jacket is well-worn and heavy and really, really warm. It smells like fresh air and something akin to homemade cookies. He wraps it around himself tighter as he enters the car and finally he feels some of the tension leave him.

                Fubuki-senpai glances at him, only to check if he’s alright, before he starts the engine and slowly drives out of the parking lot. Hyouga allows the comforting smell of the jacket to lull him into half-sleep and hugs himself.

                “Yukimura,” he calls out after a while.

                “What, senpai?”

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t even hesitate, “Do you want to go home?”

                The answer would be no, but Hyouga knows it’s not possible to just hide somewhere and avoid the confrontation, “I have to.”

                Fubuki-senpai’s lips twitch into an angry frown, much like when he confronted Hyouga before the match with Raimon, “I didn’t ask if you have to. I asked what you want.”

                Hyouga’s eyes are gazing outside, seeing the snow scenery pass. It’s calming in a way, the untainted white on the ground. The way it seems to detached from the world Hyouga has to live.

                Maybe Hyouga’s just too tired to care, but he answers, “I don’t want go home.”

                In the comforting space of Fubuki-senpai’s car, the words weight too much and seem to take up the air.

                “Then don’t.”

                Hyouga casts him a side glance, “I don’t have anywhere to go, Fubuki-senpai.”

                “It wouldn’t be a problem if you stayed with me, Yukimura,” he says softly, “I have plenty of space.”

                “It would get you in trouble.”

                “I’m an adult,” he says unaffected.

                “So?”

                “So I can deal with anything that comes my way,” he says when he sees Hyouga narrow his eyes at him, “I wouldn’t let you get in trouble either.”

                Hyouga snorts, “I already did,” he sniffs, “It doesn’t matter whether it happens now or tomorrow.”

                From the corner of his eye, he can see the familiar street. Fubuki-senpai still has yet to give up the topic, “Then it wouldn’t matter if you stayed.”

                True.

                It’s so damn true.

                There’s something twisting in his gut, not excitement or stress – maybe fear. Because he can see his home, just a couple of houses away. He grips at the jacket, the not too soft, not too hard material somehow grounding him and he gulps.

                He doesn’t want go.

                He wants to—

                “They will be mad,”

—stay.

                “It’s not fair for them to be mad at you for wanting to do something you feel truly passionate about,” Fubuki-senpai counters calmly.

                Hyouga watches anxiously as they near his house.

“I’d be a bother,” he says, now trying to talk himself out of it, convince himself it’s a bad idea and he will regret it one way or another. At this point, that’s just his automatic response when something good happens to him. He can’t just accept it.

“You’re never a bother, Yukimura.”

Hyouga picks at his nails, “I don’t have a spare of clothes or, or anything. I’m not sure that’d be okay,” he tries to hold his tongue, to just shut up and stop being a coward. It’s not that hard – he’s dealt with his parents expectation from young age, dealt with hurtful words and guilt. This day shouldn’t be that different.

Yet, when they stop in front of the house, Hyouga can’t move. He’s paralyzed.

Fubuki-senpai taps his fingers on the wheel, “I’m sure I still have some of my old clothes. You can wear them,” then he hums thoughtfully, “And Miyuki has a spare of your clothes, remember? From when you came to her that night.”

Hyouga keeps his eyes firmly on the dashboard, hands shaky and gut clenching, “I don’t want to be in a way,” he admits finally.

Fubuki-senpai looks at him, “Did I ever say that, Yukimura?”

Hyouga freaking _flinches_ at that, “No.”

“Then what makes you say that?”

Hyouga looks away, holding his breath, “I’m sorry,” he whispers guiltily.

Fubuki-senpai stops tapping on the wheel and sighs, “Yukimura, if you don’t want to stay with me, that’s fine. I offered because you don’t seem to want to go home, and,” he hesitates, something unreadable passing on his expression, “And I’d be lying if I’d say I’m comfortable sending you home to your parents.”

“I want to!” Hyouga protests hotly, “I want to stay with you, Fubuki-senpai.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Hyouga takes a stuttering breath, “You will get in trouble.”

“I already said I’d take care of it,” he pointed out, “We will go take the spare clothes from Miyuki, then we will drive to my place and eat ice-cream,” Fubuki-senpai looks at him seriously, “It’s a onetime offer. I don’t share my ice-cream with anyone, Yukimura.”

Hyouga chokes out a wet laugh, “Right, okay.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re sure?”

Hyouga nods, and he seems to hide in the jacket, “If I’m not,” he cuts off, then tries to continue, “a trouble or anything.”

“You’re not,” he says and somehow, Hyouga believes him. He hangs onto Fubuki-senpai’s every word like it’s a life line. It goes against every rule Hyouga has set for himself.

Don’t get attached to an adult.

Don’t disobey your patents.

Don’t get in the way.

Because Hyouga spent so much time with Fubuki-senpai, it started to feel almost natural to call him a mentor, a parental figure, a positive adult role model – someone who acknowledged Hyouga and didn’t make him beg for attention. It seems so strange to prefer his company and guidance over his own parents’.

But it also feels right, in a way.

“Alright,” he breathes.

Fubuki-senpai beams at him, “Good. You stay here, I’ll be back in a second,” and he’s out of the car and up in front of Miyuki-san’s door. Hyouga looks long enough to see her throw a concerned look at him, before she ushers him inside.

And then Hyouga’s alone in the car.

Well, except it doesn’t feel like he’s alone. He’s still surrounded by the smell of Fubuki-senpai’s jacket and some cheap air freshener, _mint_ , he thinks, and old receipts of take-out food and when he turns to look at the backseat, he can see a grocery bag from a nearby shop. The radio is playing some classical piece – Hyouga recognizes the tune, but can’t remember the name.

It feels okay, for a moment.

Like Hyouga doesn’t have to hold his guard up for now. Like, he could fall asleep and nothing would happen.

And that’s what happens. He doesn’t even know when. He just zips the jacket properly and leans his head on the window, watching with heavy lids as the snow falls down on the sidewalk. It’s calming. It’s soothing.

It’s freeing.

And so, just like that, he’s lulled into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I researched what I could, but I will probably always get something wrong. So, treat it as just a work of fiction, please.


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